


Better Than Dog Poop

by MsDay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, full wolf shift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsDay/pseuds/MsDay
Summary: How does a grown man ensure that a group of teenage bullies renounce their evil ways? With threats of animal mauling, of course.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Better Than Dog Poop

Peter rolls his eyes as the taunts get louder. Children. He adjusts his course just enough that he wont be seen through the trees and continues on his merry way.

He listens in, because of course he does, and snorts at the juvenile jabs. Your Mom jokes, really? They must be younger than he’d initially thought.

He’s nearly out of earshot, when he hears a voice he recognizes. “Just give me my-” the words are cut off by a punch, probably to the face, if Peter knows high school students.

He stops to listen. Four against one wouldn’t be the worst odds Stiles has ever faced. Though, he probably doesn’t have a baseball bat on him and mountain ash won’t work against human teenagers, no matter how evil they are. The Your Mom jokes make more sense now.

When Peter hears the snap of bone, he decides to step in; Stiles has always been his favourite, after all. He heaves a great sigh, even if there’s no one around to appreciate it, as he removes his jacket and shirt. He hears Stiles whimper, too quietly for the bullies to hear, and quickens his pace.

A low hanging branch keeps his clothes off of the ground and he breathes through the pain as he lets the full shift overtake him. The Alpha Spark is gone, true, but his body remembers how to transform. The wolf part of him knows the way to the surface.

Being in a pack, even if it is tangentially, has greatly improved his form. The sanity helps, too. His muscles expand as his bones shift and his skin itches as his fur grows. He doesn’t look like Canis Lupus Lupus, but he no longer looks like Lon Chaney Jr.’s evil, more attractive, step-brother, either.

He’s done this a few times, in front of the mirror and out here, in the preserve. He’s skinny for a wolf, and his legs are too long. His fur is black and soft to the touch, but it sticks out like quills. He looks like a wolf from an old cartoon, big and gnarled, the glowing eyes probably help with that.

He makes his way over to the group, staying low to accentuate his unnatural proportions. He gets close enough to see Stiles on the ground, curled up on his side with his arms covering his head as the idiots kick relentlessly. He growls, low and quiet. The bullies don’t hear it, too busy laughing to each other, but Stiles’ heartbeat ticks up, so Peter assumes that he did.

He lets the growl get louder. Stiles risks a look over at him and he winks. It feels clumsy and awkward, just like winking as a biped. He hates how ridiculous he knows he looks. Nobody outside of bad sitcoms or old crime movies actually winks. Apparently, he ain’t nobody.

The bullies takes notice, when they see Stiles is focused on something. One of them yelps. Peter slinks forward, movements fluid and teeth bared, and he makes eye contact with each one of them in turn, memorizing their faces, though they don’t know that.

Stiles pushes himself up and slides over to Peter. The bullies gravitate together, trying to get behind each other. He smells the sharp stench of urine, but huddled together the way they are, he can’t tell which one pissed himself.

He turns his back on them and approaches Stiles. His heartbeat is fast, but steady. He knows he’s not in danger, maybe. Peter gets close, runs his nose along Stiles arm, up his neck and into his hair. For the drama. And if he shivers when Stiles tilts his head to the side, well, that’s for the drama, too.

One of the idiots whispers, “it’s gunna eat Stilinski.” Peter looks over at him, then goes back to being dramatic.

Stiles is holding his hand in his lap, palm up, and Peter can see the purple already spreading under his skin. He drops his nose and nudges it. Stiles hisses and puts his good hand on Peter’s shoulder to push him away. He relents but growls again.

Movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he bolts over to the idiot who just tried to run. The idiot falls and starts crying, while the other three try to scramble away from him.

“My keys,” Stiles calls out and Peter turns his snarl on the idiot the other three turn to. The boy nearly rips out his pocket in his haste to get the keys out. They leave his hand as he fumbles them and he decides to leave them where they fall.

Peter takes a step forward, teeth still bared and nudges the keys forward with his nose. Ew. He’s going to be sneezing dirt for the next two days. Stiles better appreciate this.

The three stooges push Key Idiot forward until he gets with the program. Peter stays still, so as not to dissuade him as he reaches for the keys with shaking hands. When he gets his hands on them, he throws himself backward, into his gang, throwing the whole group of them off balance. Peter chuffs his amusement as they fall into a pile.

Key Idiot turns toward Stiles and winds up for a throw. No. Peter growls and takes a step forward.

“Dude!” the tall one yelps, shaking Key Idiot’s shoulder, “just give it to him.”

The three pushing at him probably doesn’t help him get up any faster. He crawls on hands and knees as Peter takes another step toward them. He can see the dark spot on the jeans of the one who pissed himself and from this close, the acrid smell is making his eyes sting.

He follows Key Idiot, the three others parting to let him pass. When Key Idiot gets close enough that he can hand Stiles his keys, he barks. Key Idiot yelps, flips onto his back, and crab-walks away as he finally starts crying.

Peter ignores the other four as he makes his way behind Stiles and shoves his head under his arm. Stiles gets with the program quickly, holding onto Peter as he staggers to his feet. He waits as Stiles sways a bit, then, when he’s ready, he walks Stiles back into the treeline, Stiles limping as they go.

Stiles laughs as the idiots run away, crying and yelling swearing revenge. Peter leads him back to his tree so he can reclaim his clothes.

“Dude, that was Awesome!” Stiles is saying as Peter changes back. He’s still holding his left arm stiffly, which gives Peter something to focus on besides the excruciating pain from the shift. “Thanks- Oh! Warn a guy,” he cries as he turns and brings his good hand up to block Peter’s naked body from his view.

He dresses quickly, but leaves his boots undone. “What were you doing out here?” he asks as he steps up beside Stiles.

Stiles glances over, sees that he’s dressed now, and turns to face him more fully. “I stopped for gas on my way home. One of them grabbed my keys and,” he shrugs, gesturing around them.

“You’re a mess,” he tells Stiles as he crouches down to do up his boots. Stiles doesn’t object.

* * *

It’s not hard to go back to the clearing, after dropping Stiles off at his car, and follow the idiots’ scents back to their respective houses. They all live fairly close together, so he can keep an ear on at least one other boy while in any given backyard.

He follows them. He stalks them. He thinks about killing them, decides that would be an overreaction, then thinks about maiming them. Threats will be enough.

Peter follows them for about a week. Well, he tries, but they don’t really _do_ anything. He finds out that two of them are on the lacrosse team and there’s nothing else of note about any of them.

His plan is petty and childish. If anyone found out about it, he’d have to kill them.

He goes to each house, in his wolf skin, and drops a dead forest animal on each doorstep. Better than a flaming bag of dog shit.

* * *

Two days after the incident, he gets a text, _Thanks the assholes are terrified of me :p,_ and smiles to himself.


End file.
